


Centerpieces

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-11 04:35:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8953846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: At the end of a war is a new beginning that no one wants. For peace to be found, drastic measures must be taken.





	1. Open at The Close

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Szajha](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/249994) by Calliopiea. 



> How many times will I post this fanfiction? This is probably the last time because I'm ( finally ) satisfied with it and finally okay with how I wrote the characters. As we all know by now this is a remake/rewrite of a rewrite of a fairly popular fanfiction. The writer is long gone and hasn't touched the work since 2004. While I appreciate they're work and dedication, this fanwork is taking just the base of her writing and expanding it into something much more in character and true to the original books!
> 
> I know one thing that Harry Potter fans ( especially fans of color ) hate is how white and unrealistic revolution is portrayed. It's annoying to see trauma and healing be pushed aside for white, heteronormative plots. It's lazy. I want to undo this laziness by giving us the West Indian Harry and Black and trans Hermione we deserve. You didn't know you needed Harry to be angry and passionate as he is the first few books, but here it is! You didn't know you wanted for Harry and Ron to be trans and bisexual, but that's what I'm here for. To give you things you didn't know you wanted. You're welcome ... in advance. 
> 
> Also! I know you guys are looking at that Voldemort x Snape and going :/ but I swear anything past Harry x Draco and femslash ships are just background noise and will hardly be expanded on.

Harry Potter sat with what remained of his peers in the foyer leading to the Great Hall. He was a mess of swallow skin, bones and sour smells. He hasn’t been able to bathe for weeks. His thick, healthy hair is matted and a scraggly beard has fastened itself to his chin. Harry’s full mouth was split and caked with dried blood. One of his eyes are blackened and swollen shut.

His miserable mood matched his miserable feeling. The boy turned man isolated himself from the others, scarred back turned against the sea of people. The room was quiet, still as if everyone was holding their breaths. There was no sorrow in any of them. If there were tears, they had dried a while ago. There was no fear within them. First years lifted their heads like veterans, like war-torn soldiers. Each and every one of them knew they were waiting for death.

War broke down the walls between the houses. Older Gryffindors held open their arms to young Ravenclaws. Hufflepuffs entertained Slytherins and shared stories of happier times. They talked about next year and what they might do after school. None of them said that there would be no school to return to, and that many of them would not see the next day. They didn’t want to scare the children.

How did this happen? Harry looked down at his lap and bit at his cracked mouth. Today, no one would be saved. Someone made the wrong decision and gave away information. Someone made them vulnerable to attacks, to a spell that very nearly killed them all. Most died. Harry envied their peace. He was a part of that unlucky bunch, those important leaders, who were kept alive as a final mockery to the side of the light. He squeezed his eyes shut at the memory of friends and allies slaughtered in broad daylight.

His eyes opened again as the doors to the Great Hall swung open. The foyer fell silent. Harry turned his head slightly, straining to see the cause of the hush. It was Lucius Malfoy. Harry’s lips lift just some to see how the war wore on him. Malfoy had been scrubbed, brushed and primped, but he was hollow as the movement he supported. Lucius kept his nose up as if he were trying to avoid the smell of piss and shit and sweat. Harry would laugh if he wasn’t so damn weak. He could not be fooled by the high cheeks and almost delicate grace the older wizard tried to exude. All the makeup in the whole couldn’t hide a broken spirit and a tainted soul.

Harry looked forward with his ears perked as Lucius spoke. “The time of judgement is near.” Lucius cleared his throat. Harry could feel the man’s eyes on him as he continued. “Each of you will enter the Great Hall and will bow to our illustrious master, Lord Voldemort. He will give you your sentence.”

Harry swore he heard someone suck their teeth. There were murmurs, angry but quiet talk against bowing to Voldemort. Harry knew that Ron’s voice was among those protests. The murmurs build until they are silenced by the doors of the Great Hall being pushed all the way open. The sight that is revealed to them is familiar. None of them can help the tugging at their hearts. They could remember being young and innocent, sitting happily with caps on their head as they awaited their sorting. They all remembered Dumbledore and their first feast.

They rise, eventually, with groans and grunts. Some have to be helped – they are missing limbs and chunks of flesh, gaping holes in their body from a war they were all too small to fight. Harry was among the few that had to be helped. Ron and Hermione came to his left and right, putting hands to the small of his back and urging him up. He shuffled across the foyer and then into the Great Hall accompanied by the two people that he started and ended with, the people who knew him best.

The Great Hall looked different. Harry raised his dark head to observe the changes made. The tables, once filled with smiling students, seated senior and newly initiated Death Eaters. Proud parents touched freshly printed Dark Marks with gentle fingers, wary of their children’s winces but eager to see. Students protected by their parents’ blood and dirty allegiances watched with fear-filled eyes as the rebels stepped in.

Harry knew they all smelled vile, but there was no shame on his face. Beside him, Ron grumbled about cowards and “filthy Death Eater garbage”. If his throat wasn’t so sore, he’d voice those exact same thoughts. Those people sitting at the tables had no right to call themselves victims. They were complicit, happy to let tyrants take their homes and children all for money, all for glory.

The High Table remained, but it’s patrons are of a different sort. No longer does the twinkling eye of Albus Dumbledore watch over them. No, it was only the senior-most Death Eaters and the Dark Lord himself. He had used some spell upon himself to look new and less dangerous. Harry supposed this was what he would look like if he had not abused the horcrux’s power. He was pale with sharp features and an oiled mop of grey hair. It was all a ruse, Harry knew. A monster can change its face, but it can’t change its spirit. Underneath that aged face was something dark and blood-thirsty – something to kill children, something to kill innocents.

Lucius – lapdog, murderer – gestured for them all to kneel. None of them complied. They all stand in front of Voldemort with their chins raised, daring for him to do something. Younger Death Eaters grabbed at them, using wands and hands and feet to make them submit. Harry saw others crumble and fall hard to their knees. Harry does not flinch. He stumbled some when punched in the stomach, weak leg threatening to collapse. Ron and Hermione hold him up. There are others that stand still, but in the middle of them are Ron, Hermione and Harry. The three of them do not bend.

“Have you no respect, boy? Don’t you know when you’ve been defeated?” Lucius said, wand raised as he came towards Harry. The wood was shoved underneath Harry’s chin.

The grimace of Harry’s face was grim as he said, “My name is not boy.” Looking to Voldemort, he continued, “Me and my friends will not kneel to you. Not now, not ever.”

The jab Lucius gave Harry should’ve sent him reeling. Ron looked as if he wanted to break lose and blacken the man’s eye, but he held onto his friend instead.

“Learn your place. You’ve lost.”

Harry was breathless as he summoned a big gob of spit and directed it into Lucius’s face. Lucius lifted his hand to deliver another blow, but he was cut short by Voldemort’s high and clear voice.

“Enough,” Voldemort said. His hand was raised. There was something coy on his face. He looked as if he knew a joke that Harry couldn’t quite understand. “If the _boy_ wants to stand, let him.” The hand fell, and long, bony fingers drummed against the table.

Harry stared Voldemort down, eyes unwavering even as the other turned away to read a sheet of parchment. Voldemort remained nonplussed until something made him raise his brows. The red, lifeless eyes meet his swollen, green ones. The Dark Lord smiled.

Harry thought he might vomit.

“Some of you shall be saved. Others will be killed.” His tone and body language were relaxed, slouched as if he were giving instructions for a meal. There was no one alive to impress with witty words and domineering looks. He _had_ won. He only had one last job – decide what happens to the rotting corpses that filled _his_ world.

After a dramatic pause, he continued, “I would like to note that this list was curated based off skill and raw talent. Of course, there has been careful consideration of your families’ blood. It won’t look well to have a mud-blood in my high ranks, now would it?”

That won him a few twitters from the people around him. The people at the tables smiled tense smiles. Some laughed loudly, desperately.

“ _If_ – and that is a big if – I can find brilliance in a mutt or a mud-blood, so be it,” Voldemort finished, shrugging as his eyes ran down the list. “Lavender Brown will work here in Hogwarts as the new Divinations teacher.”

The short, dark-skinned woman sucked in her cheeks. She looked around her for some confirmation. Parvarti brushed a hand across Lavender’s. Her shoulders sunk deep as she took a nearby seat in the midst of white, hateful faces.

“The Patil sisters will stay here in the astrology department.”

The sisters looked at each other, taking deep breaths and hugging each other tight. They find seats close together with Parvarti looking at Lavender through her lashes.

More names are called out. Their small crowd shrunk until there were just a few left.

“And last, but certainly not least is Ms. Hermione Granger. A talented little mud-blood, I’ve heard, with a penchant for biting and scratching.” Voldemort chuckled, red eyes turning to Hermione.

One of the masks cackled. It was a familiar and feminine laugh. “She fights like a bitch!”

That drew peals of laughter from all the Death Eaters. From the corner of Harry’s eyes, he saw Hermione shake. Her dark-skin could’ve been red as a tomato. Her eyes were downcast as she took the abuse. Harry knew that the bloody scar on her arm still hurt, still throbbed.

“Since our dear Bellatrix took such a liking to Ms. Granger, she’ll serve as Bellatrix’s personal assistant.”

Hermione tightened, shoulders high with fear. Ron put a hand on her arm in an attempt to calm her. It did nothing to take the nauseous look from her face.

“Hermione, you don’t have to do this,” Ron said. “Please.”

“I don’t have much a choice, do I? ” Hermione replied through gritted teeth. “Let me go, Ron, before Bellatrix does anything she might enjoy.”

Hermione touched both their cheeks, lifted her head high and walked up to the dais. Bellatrix got a cold, haughty look on her face as Hermione scraped back a chair and took a hard seat between her and another Death Eater. Harry was kind enough to look away as Bellatrix dragged her sharp nails down Hermione’s sore arm.

Voldemort peered at the list again, a wicked grin plastered to his pale, powdered face. Harry couldn’t help being curious about what was on the remainder of the list. It had to be something horrific. He couldn’t imagine Voldemort smiling at anything less but horrific and gory things.

“Six more will be saved. These special, elite few will be trained especially by my Szajha. They will service me privately, taking up an old tradition that has been long lost.” The coy look went sentimental. “My _Debutantes_.” The words were said with such light whimsy that Harry feared knowing what sort of task made Voldemort sound whimsical. “Come forward when I call for you.”

“Colin Creevey.”

The boy lifted his mousy brown head. He looked to Harry for reassurance, ignoring Voldemort pointing to the space just in front of the dais. Harry gave a short nod and a tense, but friendly smile. Creevey stood a little taller, walked a little braver.

“Lee Jordan.”

The bold Gryffindor did not need Harry Potter’s encouragement. He stomped forward, looking back to his companions to tell them he’d be fine. Lee’s gentle as he put a hand a hand on Colin’s shoulder and squeezes.

“Seamus Finnegan.”

The blond squeezed his eyes shut. He took Dean’s hand and kissed it – a final goodbye.

“Neville Longbottom.”

There were twitters around the room as the stocky boy rose effortlessly. He gave his friends tight hugs and smiles before joining with the other three. He’s changed from his younger days. Neville was once bumbling and nervous, anxiously living under his grandmother and parents’ memory. The Neville of today was handsome, clean-cut with a devilish kind of charm about him. The swagger and confidence he displayed reminded Harry a lot of Professor Lupin. The blood-crusted cardigan helped the image too. As he came up to the dais, Voldemort raised a brow. _Interesting._

“Ronald Weasley.”

 _All Gryffindors,_ Harry thought. Ron’s white face blanched. Harry held his arm and turned to hold him tightly. Pulled close against his friend, he said, “So this is it, hm?”

“S’pose so, yeah.” Harry gave him a playful punch. “Give ‘em hell?”

“And leave you to have all the usurping fun?” The smile they shared was fake as the squeeze Ron gave his arm. Ron moved forward. Harry bit the inside of his mouth in a weak attempt to keep himself from shouting.

He knew what was coming next. If anyone was to _service_ Voldemort, it would be the one person he’d been trying so hard to destroy. Still when the words, “Harry Potter” were spoken Harry was among that throng of people who fell deathly silent. There was a stillness, heavy like a cloak hanging on Harry’s shoulders. He shot Voldemort a hard glance, eyes narrowed as he tried to think of something – anything – to do.

Harry stepped towards the dais. All eyes were on him as he moved, mouth ape with shock. Voldemort’s pupils were blown wide. It made Harry’s skin crawl. Up there, close to the dais, a sudden and strange smell hit him – vanilla and something hidden under it. The world around him felt hazy.

The last thing he remembered before blacking out was eyes the color of blood as he was caught in unfamiliar arms.

* * *

 

He woke with a start. It was freezing, dark and damp so Harry figured that they were in some dungeon. _Not a good start_ , Harry thought, _but better than being dead._

The five others were split between waking from their sleep or wandering the dungeon. Sean’s head bobbed against the wall while Lee paced the expanse of floor. It took Harry a moment to realize they were all nude. He covered himself with his hands.

“We’re in someone’s cellar,” Harry said to no one. Ron looked up and gave a curt nod. “What happened to our clothes?”

“Snatched ‘em off. Said we wouldn’t be needing them where we’re going.” That came from Lee. “Don’t reckon they’ll be giving ‘em back any time soon.”

The conversation was cut short by the grating sound of dungeon gates being scraped across stoNE. A group of masked Death Eaters entered. They were armed, but held relaxed positions as if they knew just how powerless the men were.

“All of you, on your knees,” commanded a gravelly voice. “Show respect for the Szajha.”

There was hesitation to obey, glances and grimaces shared, before the men got to their knees. Another voice shouted for them to put their heads down winning a few grumbles from the lot of them. A new sound – clicking heels – touched Harry’s ears as someone entered.

The voice that spoke gave him the strangest sense of déjà vu. Harry assumed it belonged to the mysterious Szajha. “Why haven’t they been bathed yet?”

“My apologies, Szajha. We’ll attend to them immediately.”

“I should hope so.” There was a quality of disgust in those tones that Harry did not miss. “When you’re finished with them, rub their backs with the salve. Bring them up to the sitting room – the Acca Larentia. They need to be branded. That is all.”

There was little time between the Szajha’s words and action. Rough hands blindfolded them all and all but dragged them up the stars and down a series of halls. The minute the bags were snatched off their heads, Harry could see that they had been taking to what looked like cleaning chambers. Showerheads stuck violently from the cracked tile walls. The men aren’t given even a second to adjust to their bright, new surroundings before searing jets of water hit their bodies.

There were sounds of struggle and protest as they were handled carelessly. Ungentle fingers cleaned them with sweet smelling bars of soap, pulling up dirt and revealing infected wounds. Harry winced at how many open sores he had accumulated. Only a few were healed over. Most were festering, filled with pus and caked gore. He only had to be disgusted by the sight of them for a moment. When they were clean, Death Eaters circled them, spelling away blemishes and healing the sores.

Someone who had obviously never touched a black person tried to wash his thick, untamed afro. Harry swatted them away, silently chiding their roughness, but they came back harder until his hair was clean and a little bit fragile.

Harry should’ve been relieved when straight razors were dragged up and down their bodies, but all he could think of is how they could be gutted any moment. The blades continued, unaware of Harry’s inner panic, taking away any traces of hair and leaving soft, untouched skin in its wake. A spell was muttered over them all, sealing the changes and making them permanent.

At last, firm hands rubbed warm oils into their skin – a final battle against the months of foul smells that hung on them. A cool, minty salve was rubbed onto their backs and flanks. They were given short, thin robes to cover themselves with.

Finally, they were presentable.

The men, still damp and shivering some from the sudden temperature change, are lead down hall after winding hall. Harry does not recognize where they are. It’s certainly not Hogwarts. Hogwarts was warm stone and carpeted floors. This place was cold, grey marble and small porthole-like windows. They stopped at a white pine door, chipping with age but still beautifully crafted. On the wood in barely visible golden paint were the words _Acca Larentia._ One of the Death Eaters produced a small, bronze key and opened the door.

The room revealed to them was vast and mostly empty. Cool marble walls went up and on for miles it seemed. Everything in the room was some shade of white, grey or pink – a room made of dove and albino peacock. In the center of the room, a storm raged on. A curtain of rain fell from nowhere and landed around a high standing platform.

“Look!” Seamus shouted, pointed to the ground “The floor isn’t wet. The drops disappear before they touch the ground.”

“It’s too avoid flooding.”

The purring voice behind them prompted them all to turn. A figure dressed in a white tunic that barely grazed his knees stood near another pine door close to the far side of the room. His face was cherubic, full at the cheeks, but harsh and jaded around the eyes. He canted his head towards the rain.

“Gentlemen, I’ll handle it from here. You can go.” The Death Eaters leave the ragtag crew with the stranger, almost happy to be away from the place. What could be in here that frightened some of Voldemort’s “finest”? What was this soft-faced boy capable of if he was given the task of escorting them to this Szajha?

The person extended a hand to the rainfall. “The Szajha loves rain. A real rainstorm would make a terrible mess so we had to do it with magic.” Speaking directly to them, the person said, “You are the Debutantes I presume?”

Harry shrugged, taking the initiative. “I suppose so.”

The stranger gave a small smile then a deep, cordial bow. “Welcome, then, to the Room of Acca Larentia. I believe introductions are in order. I’m Aquarius. For the remainder of your stay, I am at your beck and call. It is my _duty_ to bow to the whims of the Debutantes.”

 _Another unwilling participant in Voldemort’s empire._ The bitter tone was not to be missed. Lee stepped forward and extended his hand. “Lee Jordan. Pleasure to meet you, Aquarius.”

Aquarius looked down at the hand. “I’m sorry, Mr. Jordan, but I can’t. It’s not my place to touch a Debutante. That honor is reserved for our Lord’s servants, his Szajha and the Dark Lord himself.”

Lee tucked his hand away, looking back to his friends with a puzzled look on his face. No one wanted to know what those touches constituted.

Aquarius cleared his throat, awkward as he walked straight towards the storm. “Er, the Szajha will see you now.” He gestured for the men to follow. As they got closer, the sound of rain became deafening. Aquarius shouted to be heard over the torrent. “Proceed up the stairwell and into the Szajha’s quarters. There you will be branded.”

Harry didn’t like the sound of this branding thing. Aquarius bowed again and stood to the side, allowing the group of men to pass him by. Harry approached the downpour first, surprised when the water curved around him. He passed through the cleared space and emerged on the other side, facing a wide staircase. A pavilion stood at the top, sheer and twinkling curtains cloaking it from the outside world. A light wind made the curtains blow and lift at the ends.

Harry led the way up the pavilion, cautious after years of war. There was an audible exhale when they reached the top safely. A genderless shadow sat within.

“Come in.”

Harry took charge again. He entered the pavilion first, shoving aside the sheer7 fabric aside. For the first time, he saw the Szajha clearly. His anger spiked, throwing heat up his belly and into his throat.

“You have to be fucking kidding me,” Harry said aloud. The corners of the Szajha’s carefully painted lips sank for just a moment.

Professor Snape was propped up against a colorful mound of pillows in the center of the pavilion. Time had changed him. The last time Harry saw Snape was in the heat of war – the final stand, the last chance. They had foolishly believed that Severus was with them. The pensive showed his true heart and Dumbledore’s deeper plans, but in a surprising twist, Snape switched sides once more, leaving the Light defenseless against Voldemort’s attack. Harry’s stomach turned to see him now, dressed like royalty when it was his cowardice and cruelty that put them in this situation.

What hurt the most was that Severus dared to look healthy. His skin, once sallow and tinted a sickly color, had a healthy, brown glow. The black hair was well-scrubbed and pushed into an elaborate affair on top of his head. A careful, steady hand had painted his eyes and lips an interesting shade of red. The robe he wore reminded Harry more of a dressing gown, laced tight around the waist and revealing a scandalous amount of smooth, tanned skin. For once, his nose fit nicely on his face. It made him look decidedly more ethnic which, Harry supposed, was his goal.

“What the fuck?” Ron said, not so quietly.

Their ex-professor turned headmaster raised a drawn brow.

“My sentiments exactly, I assure you. Imagine the shock I got when I learned that you lot were to be the new Debutantes.”

The men went quiet, staring wildly as Severus – the Szajha – plucked a long, thin cigarette from a diamond-encrusted container next to him and lit it. “Don’t call me a professor here.” He took in a heavy breath, held it behind his crooked, yellow teeth. “I’m called only by my title – Szajha. If you like, you may call me Severus.” He let out the smoke in one wispy plume.

Neville made a gagging noise. This had to be his worst nightmare – Severus Snape in a position of power over him once more, but this time with the blessing of a Dark Lord.

“Let’s start with the branding. It will take a day or so as it is. I must be honest. I don’t want this to last any longer than it has to.”

Harry cleared his throat. “I’ll go first then.” He stepped up the mound of pillows.”

The professor – _Severus_ – rolled his eyes. “Gryffindor,” he muttered, smoke around his mouth like a dragon. He snapped slender fingers and, quickly and efficiently, a series of servants came hurrying to the pavilion. They had no discernable gender when garbed in those white tunics reminiscent to Aquarius’s. Around them was an aura of sterility, clean and untouched. Harry thought they looked a lot like eunuchs in harems, gloved hands made to touch only the most sacred. He’s certain that Severus, of all people, shouldn’t be considered special nor sacred.

Still, they held bottles of ink, presenting those and an intricately carved dagger to Severus. He gave his cigarette quick puffs before snuffing it out in a nearby ashtray. He took the dagger into his hand.

“Close those curtains on your way out,” Severus commanded to one of the eunuchs. “And give the others something to eat. I don’t need to hear them bitching about not eating.”

Harry’s face felt red. He bit the inside of his mouth to keep quiet. Harry didn’t want to upset the petty man holding a dagger.

To Harry, Severus said, “Remove your robe.” He pricked the tip of his finger with the blade. Just a single drop of blood produced on his pinky. He quickly sucked it away.

Harry would not allow himself to be embarrassed in front of _him_ , but he was still wary about undressing in front of Snape.

Severus looked up from his hand at the still dressed Harry. He rolled his eyes and huffed, “Oh, please, Potter! As if I’m _dying_ to see your skinny hide.” He turned the knife in his hands. “Off with them, Potter. I’m sure we will come to know each far more intimately.”

Harry glowered at that. That was not a promise he’d like to see the end of. Still, he managed to untie the robe and let it drop to his feet. Severus examined him quickly, eyes roaming over muscle and fat. He nodded his approval before patting the pillow in front of him. Harry took a step forward but then looked back. Just as he did, the curtains fell closed, blocking him from the view of his friends.

“Do you have to have those closed?” Harry said, kneeling on the pillow.

“Do you want your friends to see you crying from pain?”

“I don’t cry anymore,” Harry said, short and hard.

Severus made no comment on Harry’s words. “Sit with your back towards me.” Harry turned on his knees. Thick thighs clamped around his hips. The breath against his ear is hot as it whispers – “You’re going to want to run. You’ll try very hard, but no matter how brave you _think_ you are, you’re going to have to stay very still.”

“I’m not afraid of a little knife in my back.” Harry looked back over his shoulder. “It’s happened to me before.”

“You’re very set on being hostile, aren’t you?” Severus dipped the dagger into one of the containers of black ink. “Wouldn’t it be better to show some grace during this defeat? _Hold still_.”

The dagger stabbed into Harry’s back. A hot, white flash of pain shot through him, feeling almost like a _Cruciatus_ and Umbridge’s cruel blood punishment combined. It was a cloying pain, the kind that made Harry work his way into cold sweats. Still, he knew if he moved it would be worse. He bit his tongue until he thought he might bleed, hands balled into tight fists.

Severus ran his cool hands down the mess he made of Harry’s back, no doubt staining his hands with ink and blood. “Stop holding it in.” The wet hand touched Harry’s bare shoulder. “Scream or you’ll go mad.”

Harry let out a choked scream. “Merlin, what’s the fucking point of this?”

“Keep strong. Learn how to enjoy it.”

“Enjoy pain?” Through gritted teeth, Harry said, “Forgive me, _sir_ , but I haven’t quiet learned how to play nicely with torture.”

Severus let up, removing his hands and the knife. “Enough with the dramatics, Potter. Besides, this is the last time you will feel any physical pain.”

Harry looked back at Severus, face sour and streaked with tears. He sank back into the positions, holding himself somewhat aloft from Severus’s reach. He nodded, decided his was strong to continue the branding. He let his mind wander, far and away, as the dagger cut into his flesh time and time. He felt as if he sat for hours, just tolerating the torture. Eventually, the pain became an irritation and then, finally, Harry numbed and the pain stopped altogether. At last, a minty portion that felt like ice was rubbed into his back. Harry tried to pull away, but Severus did not let him go.

“What was that? What’s the marking for?”

“For if you ever got it into your stupid mind to run away, we could trace you.”

Harry tampered down the urge to elbow Severus in the stomach. He was still too weak. “What’s a Debutante? Why … why does Voldemort want us to do this?”

“A Debutante is the epitome of intellect, culture and etiquette. Of beauty and sexuality,” said Severus. “We’re the centerpieces of empires.”

“You didn’t answer my other question.”

“Enough questions, Potter. You’ll learn everything in time.”

“I might’ve known the wicked _Professor_ Snape would stay loyal to his master. You have no spine, no morals. You let me see into your memories, but nothing has changed.” Harry pulled away from Severus’s reach, grimacing at the ache in his back. “You think I might forgive you for all that abuse and shitty behavior just because you wanted to fuck my mom?”

Severus flinched. “ _Potter_.”

“ _Snape_. You hated me, _loathed_ me because you couldn’t have my mother.”

Snape turned sharply at that, whispering low and fast, “I hated you because your father was an _ass_!”

“I was a child! What did the actions of my fucking father have to do with me? You think because you were hurt that you get to hurt others? You let people _die_ because of a childhood feud. Admit it. If it wasn’t for my mother, you would’ve let me die time and time again because the truth is you’re a selfish slimy bastard who thinks only for himself.”

Harry’s voice was full of poison, bursting with things unsaid for the past four years. They’ve been waiting in limbo for Severus’s master to make a decision. He had time to think, to get angry again.

Severus waved him off. “Leave, Potter. You’re being a child, and I don’t entertain whining.”

Harry shook his head, preparing his final barb. “One day, you’ll have to pay for everything you’ve caused. Enjoy this.” Harry gestured to the pavilion, the pillows, to the makeup that coated Severus’s face. “Enjoy your fancy cigarettes and tea parties with Death Eaters while you can. It may not be today, tomorrow or even in this life time, but you will pay. Remember that, Severus Snape.”

Severus didn’t respond. He wiped his hands off on a nearby cloth. “Send one of others. Get some rest. You’re _obviously_ exhausted.”

Harry sucked his teeth, but turned anyway to stagger down the mountain of pillows. Only now did he feel the full effect of the branding. His back burned with the heat of the fast-healing mark and the cooling potion. Harry touched his hands to his back – blood, ink and potion. He pushed the flimsy fabric aside, ruining it with his soiled hands.

“Some else—,” and that’s all Harry could say before he collapsed onto the floor and into sleep.

* * *

 

When he woke everything was disturbingly silent. He sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes, to find that the other five had all left, leaving him alone. The sound of bare feet moving against marble fixed that thought. Severus rose from behind a partition looking much more familiar. His hair had lost its luster and the makeup was removed. He looked more like Professor Snape than the oddly, and annoyingly, sensual Szajha. The only true difference about him was the hair. It had, at once, stopped around his shoulders. Now it flowed down his back, flicking around his upper thighs. He climbed onto the mountain of pillows, pulling a light cotton sheet over his body.

“Are you just going to sleep on the floor?” Silence. “Merlin, Potter, come up here and sleep.”

Harry’s face spoke of repulsion, but he went to Severus’s side anyway. He refused the sheet with earned him a shrug from Severus. He could only be so complicit in this lewd parody of a sleepover. Harry did _not_ want to think about the undertones.

“Who went after me?”

“Creevey,” responded Severus. “His first name? It’s Colin, isn’t it?”

Harry nodded. “How can you not know his name? He was your student, and you didn’t take the time to learn it?”

Severus’s face is unreadable. “Creevey emulates you.” Both brows rise. “He’s a fool for it. Imagine putting a scrawny failure on a pedestal only for him to fail you all. Look at you now.”

“I’d like to remind you – again – of who put us in this situation.” Harry turned his face away from Severus, bitter as he said, “He shouldn’t worship me though. Not now.”

Severus frowned, making lines in his already aged face. “There was Finnegan, then Longbottom and then Weasley. Mr. Weasley very nearly had to be dragged.””

“Why am I the only one here?”

“You’re the only one who fainted. The others are in the sleeping chambers,” yawned Severus. “Anyways, you were the only one I invited to stay.”


	2. No One Mourns the Wicked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> . “Somehow, we’ll make you into something worthwhile.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should mention that literally everything Voldemort and Severus to do Harry is extremely anti-black, and writing this as a Negro of Poc Colors, I was literally Turning Red. Anyways! Kudos and comments are always appreciated. The poetry, though I say it in the writing, comes from Song of Solomon, and it's the first chapter/few verses.

Begrudgingly, Harry had to admit that Severus was very talented with his hands. Severus kept the curtains open the next morning, starting early with Lee. The Gryffindor only dropped a few tears, shooting back mercurial remarks to everyone one of Severus’s little jabs.

The rain continued to pour down, isolating the pavilion from the rest of the strange manor. It helped to create a strange community among them. Here, in this secluded sector, they were allowed to unpack their problems. They would never be at peace or achieve any calm, but at least they could fake it. The war burned under the skins, unavoidable and vicious as it laid in wait. Lord Voldemort thought he had introduced them to peace. What a laugh! This was merely waiting, always waiting, for the next battle.

Keeping their voices low, they spoke about plans. Seamus thought they should try to communicate with the Order or some of the missing members of Dumbledore’s Army.

“Think about it! They’re probably in those dungeons now, wondering why we having sent correspondence.”

“We shouldn’t act so fast,” Neville said. “We have no clue about anything that’s going on here.”

“It can’t be good,” interjected Ron. “I don’t like the way that tosser said _servicing_ him.”

“Maybe it won’t be bad at all. I thought we’d be scrubbing floors or something like that,” Colin said. He held his arms around his knees. “I’m a nightmare with cleaning spells.”

“I can assure you that you’ll never need to even pick up a wand.”

Well, wasn’t that comforting. Aquarius stood behind them holding a tray of steaming, hot teas in his hands. He bends to let them take one each, saying that he’ll bring food later in the day.

“I thought you might like something to get you up this morning,” he said, setting the tray aside before bowing. “I would also like to answer any questions you might have.”

Aquarius stood behind them, a tray of steaming hot teas in his hands.

“Questions! God, do I have a mountain of those,” shouted Ron. “What is this whole Debutante business?”

Aquarius sat down just slightly outside of their circle. He tucked his feet underneath him. Harry saw how young the person was. He couldn’t have been more than just twenty – a few years younger than Harry.”

“The story of the Debutantes,” Aquarius started, “is one of the most beautiful and dramatic chapters in wizarding history. I’m surprised, really, that it doesn’t get told more often. It all begins with the Gellert Grindelwald’s rise to power…”

“Christ, it’s Professor Binn’s history class all over again,” groaned Ron.

“Ah, come off it, Ron! Aquarius is much more interesting than Binns,” Seamus said. He moved to give Aquarius a playful punch. The young wizard recoiled as if burned. “Oh, sorry, mate. Forgot we’re not allowed to touch.”

“No, it’s my fault really. Erm, where was I? Yes! In 1899, long before his ascent to power, Grindelwald fell in love with the most extraordinary young man going by the name of Albus Dumbledore. I’m sure all of you recognize that name. He was your headmaster before the Szajha, yes?”

None of the men responded. Aquarius carried on, somewhat awkward.

“Well, the two of them were a wickedly brilliant pair. Their minds … it was like they were connected at the heart and the soul. They, oh my, they completed each other. If Gellert was the moon, then Albus was the sun that illuminated his darkness. Their love – in its time – bloomed famously.”

The men were mesmerized. Harry himself was startled. So much he didn’t know about the headmaster. Now Harry felt like he knew hardly anything about Dumbledore, that he only saw shades and flashes of the man’s life and personality.

“They had a falling apart however. Gellert showed his intentions and that they were not pure. The Elder Wand had twisted his heart, driving him into madness and making him into the volatile and wicked wizard we know him as. Gellert was heartbroken after their relationship ended. In his sorrow, he came across a second, a handsome young man named Alysaundre Demiere.

“It is wise to remember that Gellert did not love Alysaundre as purely as he loved Albus. I think that Alysaundre did not love Gellert at all. Both of them were hungry for power, hungry for someone to warm their beds. Alysaundre saw that Gellert was quickly rising to power and we wanted in. Their love for each other was more like a business agreement for power and glory.”

Aquarius stopped to catch his breath. He still had the men’s attentions. “After a lengthy courtship, Alysaundre agreed to bind himself to Grindelwald using the Unbreakable Promise. He became Grindelwald’s lover and personal servant, promising that he would never stray nor leave his side.” The silence and small gulps showed that each of them understood the significance of this move. Harry wondered what could’ve happened that there was no more Alysaundre and that he was hardly spoken of.

“In 1905, it was said that Alysaundre became the first Szajha. Grindelwald used his riches to buy this land and build this extravagant manor for his love to live in. Alysaundre enjoyed the luxuries at first, but soon complained about loneliness. You see, Grindelwald was paranoid, always fearful that someone would come and take the Elder Wand away from him. He had guards at every door, watching over Alysaundre and any visitors like hawks. The man felt stifled, isolated from the outside world.

“To remedy this, Gellert agreed to supply Alysaundre with companionship. In 1907, the first few Debutantes were called into service. These Debutantes were a diverse and illustrious group of people, known for their expertise in culture and beauty. A young one – a man, I think, but I can’t be sure – stood out among the group. He was known as Maxime Cordett. To all in wizarding society, he was considered the ‘rarest gem of Grindelwald’s empire’. Alysaundre took a special liking to Maxime. They started up a very public affair, practically ravaging each other in broad daylight.”

Harry’s eyes were blown wide. He hadn’t known half of these people were alive, not to mention how they all seemed to trace back to the headmaster and the first Dark Lord.

“What happened next?” Seamus asked, chin on his knees.

“Oh, yes! _This_ is where it gets fascinating,” Aquarius leaned in, spanning out his hands in dramatic storytelling. It seemed to Harry that Aquarius showed more interest in magic history than he did in taking care of the war survivors. “Grindelwald had no idea that this affair was going on even though the lovers made no attempt to hide it. What was crazy was that it happened for _17 years,_ all under his nose without him getting a little whiff of infidelity. Some say,” Aquarius said coyly, “the cause of this was because he was distracted. He had been in correspondence to Albus Dumbledore, who you might remember was his ex-lover. There’s speculation, always, that Alysaundre felt spurned and took his revenge by sleeping with Maxime, but _I_ support the more romantic story. Alysaundre’s true heart was for Maxime and not even the promise of death could break his passion.”

“Were they found out?” This came from Ron, eyes wide and mouth barely catching the now cold tea that rested in his hands.

“Naturally. Grindelwald was enraged. I think we all know what happens to those break an Unbreakable Curse, yes?”

“They die,” Ron said quietly.

“Yes. But Grindelwald was angry and bitter. He took the lovers out into a public place and had them executed for the world to see. All of wizarding society saw as the heads of Alysaundre and Maxime rolled, a final testament to Grindelwald’s deadly power. For seventeen days, their heads remained high on the tower.”

“He wanted everyone to see what happened to traitors,” Neville added. He looked green at the story, but kept his voice level as he said, “What happened to the other Debutantes?”

“Oh, well the party was dispersed. Grindelwald fell from power after Dumbledore defeated him. The entire system became pointless, extravagant. I think it might’ve disappeared completely if it wasn’t for a young man with a liking for traditions. Upon his ascent to power, the Dark Lord became fascinated with a young potions student at Hogwarts. After graduation, Severus became the second Szajha in history.”

Neville nodded. “So, we’re the second set of Debutantes.”

A reflective quiet took over them all. Harry thought hard about what Debutantes were intended to do. If Severus was for the “pleasure” of the Dark Lord, then what were they here to do?

Just then, Lee came tumbling down the steps, out of balance after obviously being shoved the Snape. The aggressor seemed unmoved however, merely coming down the steps behind them. Harry took a moment to examine the brand. It was extremely detailed – black ink created flowers and vines with spells laced within. Aquarius peered over to look at the marking.

“It’s a bit puffy, but it’ll heal well.” His hands hovered over the inflamed skin. "The scars will be beautiful.”

“Thank you, Aquarius.” Severus said, dragging dark and cold eyes around the room before landing them on Ron. “Mr. Weasley, I don’t believe I got to finish yours last night. I was dreadfully tired. I’m sure I could’ve injured you if I kept going in that state. Come. Let’s get this over with.”

Ron sucked his teeth – a habit he took from Harry. Potter put out a protective arm, concerned about Snape and Ron and a knife being in the same place together. Severus rolled his eyes. “If I wanted to stab him, I would’ve done it last night when I wouldn’t have to deal with any of your cawing. Don’t be a bigger idiot than you are, Potter. Weasley?”

Harry touched Ron’s arm, wordlessly asking a question. Ron wore a look of pained reservation on his face. “Best to get it over with, huh?” He unwrapped the robe, dropping it to his feet. He followed Severus up to the pavilion of pillows.

* * *

Night brought a cover of dark, wrapping the war survivors in a sheet of stars. They slept, all of them, in a room directly across from the Acca Larentia. The walls seemed to bend with its rain forest motif and the ceiling. The ceiling was painted with the cosmos. A shooting star passed over theirs, illuminating their brown faces.

Harry and Ron were the only ones still awake. The others fell asleep, snoozing in different stages of undress. The pillowed room was comfortable, sweet-smelling and curtained. Harry’s eyes traced the pattern of a falling meteor.

Ron’s arms were folded underneath his head. He turned to Harry, shoulder exposed and kissed with freckles. “So … where we you last night?” Cleared his throat and said, “You didn’t sleep with the rest of us.”

Harry took a breath. He exhaled, “Yeah, er, Snape had me sleep with him.”

Ron made an ugly face that Harry laughed at.

“Sorry, mate. Thought you ditched us.”

“Come on. Me? Ditch you guys for that bat?” Harry scoffed. “You’re mental.”

The silence between the two of them was palatable. Ron tilted his head upward. “So, what do you think of this place? Want to make an escape plan or enjoy it?”

Harry had put a lot of thought into this. He didn’t want to leave – there was no knowing what lie in wait outside the walls of this manor. Harry didn’t want to stay either. Being owned and controlled by Voldemort and Snape was an idea that gave him headaches.

From the corner of his eye, he caught Neville having a nightmare. He was wordless as he walked over and woke the man, shaking strong shoulders and urging him out of his bad dream. Neville sat up from his nightmare, flexing his fingers and breathing deep. Harry watched Neville from the corner of his eye as he returned to his pallet next to Ron’s. He wondered if Neville knew that his parents were killed when Voldemort cleansed the Hospital. Probably not. Best to keep the knowledge that Neville’s own grandmother, though Pureblood, had been deemed too weak and liable to switch sides. All of their minds were haunted by ghosts and threshals. It would hurt more than it would help.

Remembering Ron’s question, Harry shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t like being under Snape, but it’s better than the foyer and its better than death. Give the Order some time. Sooner than later, we’ll organize.” He stretched out on the pallet. “Besides, we’re eating and we have someplace to sleep. That’s better than most of the troops. We can … we can start to get better here.”

“Or worse,” Ron said. “Everything good turns to shit.” His voice was empty as he laid with his arms folded underneath his head. “What about our families? Ginny? Fred? Mum and Dad? Remus, I guess, for you.”

Harry let out a short, anguished sound. How could he be so forgetful? No doubt Remus was captured by now. He was either in some unmarked grave or being tortured for fun by some sadistic fuck. The thought drove a lump into his throat. He shot up.

The room is momentarily bathed in candlelight. At the doorway stood Severus, clothed (barely) in a dressing gown and holding a candle. “What’s the problem? I heard something.”

“Nothing.” A beat and swallow. “Neville had a nightmare.”

Severus made an empty hum. “Is he fine? Does he require any assistance?”

“I’m right here, _thanks_.”

Severus’s eyes moved to Neville then back to Potter. “Nothing we can’t provide,” said Harry. He watched as Severus turned on his heel, eager to leave the room. “Wait, wait!”

“ _Now_ , is something the matter?”

“Tell me what happened to the others. Remus, Hagrid, the Weasleys – are they safe?”

The light is snuffed out and replaced by the trademark blue glow of _Lumos_. “I have no clue. Are you going to need to know now, or can this _please_ wait until morning?”

With a voice lined with poison, Harry said, “It can’t. Who can tell me what happened to them?”

Next to him Ron was quiet. In the spell’s glow, Harry could see Snape’s thin cut face thinking. An eyebrow arched then fell with a final decision. “If you’re so eager, Mr. Potter, then we must seek audience with Lord Voldemort.”

* * *

“Don’t be nervous,” said Severus. He picked through an extensive wardrobe of gowns and robes. He disappeared into the closet and came back out with a few different outfits. Severus pressed them against Harry’s skin, making tsking noises as he exchanged them and set them back. “Nothing ill will befall you tonight.” After a moment’s contemplation, Severus chose a virginal, white gown that came with a hideously floral, blue robe and matching bodice. He set it against Harry’s skin and nodded in approval.

“Try this.” His voice was weary and weighed down with sleep. He forced the clothes into Harry’s hands. “If you don’t mind, I must make myself presentable.”

Harry held the clothes out. They looked like his Aunt Petunia’s curtains, honestly. “Why do I have to do all this to get some information?” Harry began to undress, tossing clothes aside in a haphazard pile. “Seems a bit overdone.”

“As a debutante, you must never appear in a state of undress in front of anyone important,” said Severus, dipping back into the closet and pulling out a few outfits. He stood, briefly, in front of a silver mirror to compare the robes before settling on the simpler one in dove grey. He disappeared behind the paper scrim, leaving Harry to figure out how to fit himself into his own dress.

He tried, first, to fit it over his head, but the large plume of natural hair prevented it. There was no way to just shrug into like a robe. He quirked his lips as he thought. _Oh!_ He dropped the dress to the floor, careful not to let it get dirty, and stepped into it. He shimmied it over his thighs and hips and held the bodice over his flattened chest. He scoffed at the space between the bodice and chest, feeling ridiculous and a little uncomfortable. He fiddled with the strings that trailed behind him and wondered how he was supposed to lace it up.

“Don’t try doing it yourself.”

Severus reappeared from behind the partition. He looked more like “the Szajha” when dressed in grey and pastel green. He stood behind Harry, fingers ghosting over the man’s shoulders momentarily before tugging the strings and cutting off all circulation in his chest.

Harry took in a strained breath and shot poisoned daggers at Severus. The Szajha paid him no mind. “Merlin!” Harry tried to elbow Severus off of him. “Are you trying to kill me? I can’t breathe!” In response, Severus pulled even harder, effectively pushing up Harry’s chest in some garish impression of breasts. Harry felt as if there was no air left in his lungs.

“Loosen it up! I’m not a girl. I don’t need a corset!”

“Obviously, you do. Now, sit,” commanded Severus. He motioned to the vanity set against a near wall.

“In this deathtrap? I couldn’t even if I wanted to!”

“Stop with the melodramatics, Potter.” Severus scowled. _Obviously,_ he was cranky from being dragged out of sleep and interacting from Harry, but Potter didn’t have much sympathy for him at the moment. Sighing, Severus said, “Of course, you can sit. Keep a straight back. Don’t even think of slouching. Or, is that a bit too much for you to comprehend?”

He wanted to shout about how impractical this whole thing was, and how he shouldn’t have to be humiliated to get some answers. He kept his mouth shut only because he couldn’t manage pulling up one decent breath. Glaring back at Snape, Harry stiffly walked to the chair and sat, back ramrod straight as he took in his features in the mirror. The cleaning took away most of the scars and discoloration, but Harry still looked weak and tired. He hoped his eye bags would be an insult to Voldemort.

“You should know that this is _very_ uncomfortable.”

“Beauty is uncomfortable, Mr. Potter,” Severus said as he opened a drawer and pulled out a brush. “Strike all thoughts of comfort from your head. In time, you’ll adjust to it.”

“Adjust to pain? Haven’t I done enough of that?”

Severus doesn’t respond. He brushed hard at Harry’s hair causing Potter to flinch every time the brush tore through his hair. Between hard brush strokes, Harry took peeks at himself. Too much war-won hardness in his face to afford softness.

Severus stopped his torture to begin working Harry’s thick hair into a braid. “Somehow, we’ll make you into something worthwhile.” He dug his fingers into Potter’s mop, exasperated by the mass. “Somehow.”

* * *

“Our Highest Lord bids you welcome.”

Harry stood with his head facing forward, but even distraction could not muddle his memory. Wormtail stood at the door, demoted to doorman and slave in a matter of days. Knowing that the traitor was alive turned Harry’s stomach, but at least the man’s dignity was being chipped away at.

The round-faced man gave a curt bow and stood aside, leaving the two of them to stand in front of the door. Harry took him from the corner of his eye. Was that really the man his father used to be friends with? And Remus and Sirius? Was that really, honestly the same Peter Pettigrew that was mischievous and fun and light-hearted? Harry couldn’t tell. He only knew him as Wormtail, cold and manipulative and ready to kill his friends.

The thoughts of betrayal were cut short by his scar stinging. The pain took over his face, but it was familiar. After years of living with, he could do nothing more than rub at it and pray the pain away. He did not need to wonder what it meant. He already knew what waited behind those white, wooden doors.

“Calm yourself,” Severus said, discreetly adjusting his robes so that they lay flat. “There’s nothing to fear but fear itself. Remember?”

Harry doesn’t get a chance to ask where Severus heard that. Snape had already pushed open the door, revealing to Harry’s a sitting room. It was bland, devoid of personality or personal touches. Harry had a hard time believing the Dark Lord with all of his dramatics would make himself at home among matte couches and blinding white tones. On the wall was a handstitched blanket, however, and Harry stepped close enough to read the words:

 _I built a tiny garden_  
_in the corner of my heart._  
_I kept it just for lovely things,_  
_and bade all else apart._  
_And ever there was music,_  
_and flowers blossomed fair._  
_Yet it was never perfect,_  
_until you entered there,_

–   _SS_

“You seek an audience with me?”

Harry’s head turned at the sound of the high voice. In his brief moment of distraction, Severus went to kneel besides the Dark Lord, dark head resting against his thigh. He looked disgustingly serene there, as if this was the only place he fit perfectly. Voldemort reached out a pale hand and stroked at Severus’s locks.

Harry was sure that if he watched them for another second he’d be sick. He had to ask his question, but the words were stuck in his throat. He feared that if he opened his mouth all that would come out would be anger and bile. Was _this_ what Severus had betrayed them for? A thick, empty but nameless loneliness wrapped itself around Harry’s neck, choking his words.

Harry nodded, stiff and impossibly hard.

“Forgive me, my Master. It has only been the second day of their training. They’ve received their marks, but I have yet to teach them anything else.”

“He’s so aggressive and abrasive. I’d be amazed if anyone – even you, my sweet – would be able to turn him into something delicate.” Oh, if Harry could scream, he would. Voldemort beckoned Harry close. The man stood for a moment, swallowing his anger before stiffly coming along. “Do you know how to curtsey?”

Harry let out a sharp huff of laughter. “I’m _so_ sorry. I haven’t had much time to practice my graces between fighting off a genocidal maniac and school.”

Voldemort rose some, shifting Severus off his lap and slapped Harry. The violence threw Harry off some. He tasted blood in his mouth, but that was easily solved by spitting it out onto the white carpet. Looking back to Voldemort and then Severus, Harry licked his teeth with his mouth closed. Voldemort re-seated himself.

“Would you like to change your answer?”

“No, thank you,” Harry said. “Would you like to change yours?” He cocked his head and wore a red-stained smile.

Unflinchingly, Voldemort looked up at Harry. “It is your duty as a Debutante to be the epitome of etiquette. You live by traditional rules,” he said, echoing Severus’s words from the day before. “When you approach a Death Eater, it’s custom for a Debutante to curtsey to show their respect and admiration.”

Respect and admiration? Respect and fucking admiration? Harry scoffed, jutting out his hip as he took in the words. If he was going to make changes, he’d have to stay alive, but still! Curtseying? He mimicked the bows he had seen on TV – sweeping low, crossing at the ankle – and he’s sure he got it right. The Dark Lord, mockingly, applauded his efforts. Severus turned his head to laugh into Voldemort’s thigh.

Harry spat out another glob of blood. Voldemort’s eyes followed the line of spittle and said, “Another one of those, Potter, and you won’t have a mouth to spit with.”

Harry shrugged and crossed his arms. “Was it good enough? Do I need to prostate myself in front of you next?”

Voldemort raised a hand. “Not tonight.” Harry didn’t like the implications. “With enough breaking and bending, I’m sure you could be a rather fine Debutante.” Thinking and then nodding, he continued. “I must say, I am surprised. I expected more fight from you, Potter. What happened to my little lion? Did you lose your bite?”

Severus laughed deeper into Voldemort’s thigh. Harry sneered at that. How many people died so he could sit there like some kept man, laughing and being petted by blood-stained hands. Harry shifted his weight on his feet, arms still crossed and his fingers digging deep into his forearm.

“Oppose to popular belief, I’m not an idiot. I’d be a dumbass to think I could fight you without my wand.” Harry sucked in his cheeks. “Besides, there’s more than just me to think about. Selfishness is not something I want to be known for.” Severus quieted at that, sensing that the barb was meant for him. “If the survival of others depends on me playing consort, I can manage a few little bows.”

“Aren’t you tired of being such a martyr, Potter?”

“Tired? Yes. Of fighting? Of killing myself so others can live? Not at all.” He released his arms. “It’s called honor. I’m not sure your lot knows much about it.”

Turning to Severus, Voldemort said, “A bit mouthy, but diplomatic. He took his hand away from Severus’s hair. “Read me something. Something calm, please, to pacify our _brave_ Mr. Potter.” He gestured to a wall of books, thick tomes that Harry knew were full of dust and moths and moldy words. Severus lifted to his feet and gave a curtsey – better than Harry’s – and strode to the bookshelf. His fingers touched the rows of books before settling on a skinny tome. He flipped the book over, showing the cover to the Dark Lord. Harry looked over too.

It was a slim black book, well taken care of and maybe even loved. On the front, etched deeply with gold, were the words, “ _Song of Solomon_ ”. Harry had to stop the chuckle that started in his belly. The Dark Lord having a book from any religious text in his possession. Voldemort motioned for Harry to sit. He bent at the knee, sitting far as possible as he could manage as Severus spoke words from the book:

_Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth!_

_For your love is better than wine;_

_your anointing oils are fragrant;_

_your name is oil poured out;_

_therefore virgins love you._

_Draw me after you; let us run._

_The king has brought me into his chambers._

_We will exult and rejoice in you;_

_we will extol your love more than wine;_

_rightly do they love you_

_I am very dark, but lovely,_

_O daughters of Jerusalem,_

_like the tents of Kedar,_

_like the curtains of Solomon._

_Do not gaze at me because I am dark,_

_because the sun has looked upon me._

_My mother's sons were angry with me;_

_they made me keeper of the vineyards,_

_but my own vineyard I have not kept!_

_Tell me, you whom my soul loves,_

_where you pasture your flock,_

_where you make it lie down at noon;_

_for why should I be like one who veils herself_

_beside the flocks of your companions?_

_Solomon and His Bride Delight in Each Other_

_If you do not know,_

_O most beautiful among women,_

_follow in the tracks of the flock,_

_and pasture your young goats_

_beside the shepherds' tents._

_I compare you, my love,_

_to a mare among Pharaoh's chariots._

_Your cheeks are lovely with ornaments,_

_your neck with strings of jewels._

_We will make for you[b] ornaments of gold,_

_studded with silver._

_While the king was on his couch,_

_my nard gave forth its fragrance._

_My beloved is to me a sachet of myrrh_

_that lies between my breasts._

_My beloved is to me a cluster of henna blossoms_

_in the vineyards of Engedi._

_Behold, you are beautiful, my love;_

_behold, you are beautiful;_

_your eyes are doves._

Voldemort held up his hand to stop the poetry. There was stillness as Severus snapped the book shut and put it back in its place. Voldemort wore a bizarre smile that took up his face. “After all these years, you speak those words like you believe what was written.” Severus bowed his head, ever the respectful servant as he rushed back to Voldemort’s side.

“While I love the arts, I didn’t come here to listen to poetry. I came here with a question.”

Severus sighed, exasperated. Voldemort shrugged. “What do you want?”

“Where are the rest of the Order? Remus Lupin, Rubeus Hagrid, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and their remaining children? Do you know where they were placed?”

Voldemort thought for a moment, pondering if he should tell the truth or not. He raised his brows and said, “The wolf is in my custody. The half-breed is staying on as grounds keeper and the blood traitors are doing very nicely in prison.”

“But they’re all alive?”

“Yes, Mr. Potter. They’re all alive.”

Relief washed over Harry in waves. He did not wish to dissect the man’s thinking or his words. For now, his family was safe.


	3. Break and Bend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Debutantes begin training

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally hate this scene so much lMFAO!

“Today we’ll start training,” Severus said as he paced the length of the pavilion. He looked like his old self, hair pulled back and dressed in dark robes. He reminded them all of their Hogwarts days. The authoritarian tones rang out as he continued. “You’ll need to know at least the basics before the Cockatrice Bacchanalia next month.”

“Sounds obscene,” Lee said under his breath. Harry shared the opinion, but held back the grimace. Based off what he saw last night, he was starting to get an idea of what the Dark Lord planned for them.

Voice full of exasperation, Severus said, “It doesn’t matter how obscene you may think it, Mr. Jordan. He arched a sculpted brow. “Since you, Jordan, are a Debutante, you were expected to attend. And since I am your Szajha and am in charge of your activities, you _will_ be attending.”

Lee hummed. “You’re taking a lot of pleasure from bossing us around again, aren’t you?”

“Gallons of it.” Severus waited to see if there would be any more outbursts before continuing. “Before the ball, you will learn other aspects of culture. How to debate, how to discuss art, how to dance – I assume none of you know anything more than popular moves of today. I’m referring only to the waltz and the occasional foxtrot.” He paused. “Do any of you know how to waltz?”

They were all silent. Waltzing, they thought, was for old men and women with sentimental songs in their heads, spinning circles into the dance floor. It was not for the young and virile whose hips were made for grinding and twisting and shaking. Waltzing was for people who forgot how to have sex.

“McGonagall taught us during the Yule Ball,” Colin offered.

Severus waved him off. “That was ages ago. It won’t hurt for you to learn again.” Clearing his throat, he continued saying, “During this time, you’ll also learn the art required after the Bacchanalia. You’ll have to be extremely, exquisitely learned in _that_.” Severus draped himself on a nearby chaise longue, sprawling luxuriously across it. “It’s the Debutante’s main role to be well-learned in _that_.”

“Forgive me, Snape, but you’re being rather vague on what _that_ is,” Seamus said. “Do you mind cluing us in?”

“Sexual pleasures,” said Severus, blunt as ever. “After the ball, you all will be expected to allow our Lord Voldemort to bed you – deflower some of you, I suppose. I think some of you are quite virginal. After this, however, he’ll be your most memorable sexual partner as he was mine.”

Harry’s stomach lurched. The men all shared horrified and red faces. Though he had an idea this is where it was going, he still wasn’t prepared for this.

“We’re supposed to allow him to fuck us?” Ron asked when he came back to his senses. His words sounded thin and choked, as if he were saying them while being held down and pressed against.

Lazily, Severus reached for his box of cigarettes, pulling one out and setting it between his teeth. “Fuck you, service you, bed you, pleasure you, _make love_ to you – your body was the moment he won this war. Personal agency is for the dead and dying.” He gestured with the cigarette. “Haven’t any of your heard the phrase, ‘to the victors goes the spoils?’”

They stood in horror as Severus puffed at his cigarette and exhaled smoke. He tapped out ash before settling it back in his mouth. “The art of pleasure will be the most important lesson you’ll learn. Observation, mostly, but some experience prior to the Bacchanalia.” Looking at their faces, he said, “Don’t worry. Those with unpopped cherries will be handled very gently.”

Seamus, this time, spoke for them, “Who will we be observing?”

Severus, caught between a rather large plume of smoke, said, “Me, of course.” He shifted on the lounge so that he could lay on his back with his legs parted ever so slightly. “I happen to very well-versed in that art. Much more, I think, than you lot.”

To the left of him, Harry saw Neville and Ron wrinkle their noses. To the left, Lee wore an exasperated face alongside a green-gilled Seamus and Colin. He did _not_ want to watch someone shag Professor Snape no matter how _well-versed_ he was. Harry bit his tongue to keep back to words he wanted to say.

“You?” Ron said, voicing what they were all thinking. “People want to shag _you_?”

Head turned skywards and eyes facing the ceiling, Snape looked serene but dangerous. The rainfall became loud enough to drown out their words. The air smelled tense, the way it does just before lightning strikes. “You can think whatever you please, Mr. Weasley. Glare at me, think whatever you like, but I will not allow any of you _brats_ to disrespect me.” He crushed the cigarette out on his ever-present ashtray, mouth full of smoke. “There has not been one that has walked – no, crawled – away without singing my praises. There is no one else in the Dark Lord’s ranks with an inkling of my –”

“And you’re proud of that?” Lee asked, interrupting.

“Absolutely beaming, Mr. Jordan.” His eyes were dark as he spoke. “I am much desired. Your sexual education is in good hands.” Lee snorted. Snape pulled his lips in a strange mockery of a smile, saying, “I could always just show you. I remember you being a more experience based learner. How many times will I make you come before you understand?”

Lee dipped his head, face reddening in a mix of disgust or anger. The other men shuffled awkwardly on their feet, looking anywhere but at Lee or Severus.

Severus spoke their silence. “I’ll be giving you your training myself. No one but me is allowed to touch you until the Cockatrice Bacchanalia. You’re mine until the Dark Lord properly beds you.”

A silence fell over them again, interrupted only by Lee muttering something about perversion. Severus shot a glance at him but said nothing to imply he cared.

Colin cleared his throat, breaking the awkward air. “So what are we doing today?”

“Thank you, Mr. Creevey, for showing some enthusiasm in your training,” Severus sat up on the chaise lounge, pushing back wayward locks of hair. “Today will be basic etiquette. You’ll learn how to curtsy and properly address Lord Voldemort.”

“Men don’t curtsey. ‘Specially don’t curtsey for the likes of Voldemort,” Lee shot.

“You’re not men any more, Mr. Jordan. You’re a Debutante, and that’s something else entirely.”

* * *

Severus massaged his temples. They had been at this for hours, practicing and going over the simple movement enough times to make his eyes blur. Still, the Debutantes were awkward and clunky on their feet, moving awkwardly as they did lazy bows instead of the graceful curtseys he had taught them.

“Alright. Show me that you learned _something_ from this lesson, and then we’ll stop for the day.”

Seamus went first. He stared at his feet the whole time, willing himself to make no mistakes. The words were insincere in his mouth, blunt and sharp. Severus wasn’t impressed. He was shooed to the back of the line – passable. 

Colin next. The boy tried his hardest. He swept low and stumbled on the way back up. Severus reached out a hand to stable him; everyone saw the way Colin jerked away, distaste written on his face. He recovered himself well, saying the line mechanically – “My Lord, I am honored to formally make your acquaintance.”

Lee and Ron were as rough as Harry expected. Snape chided them both, telling them to relax and make themselves softer. Ron rolled his eyes and rushed through; Lee stopped moving altogether, crossing his arms and staring Severus down until he was waved away.

Neville must’ve been a relief. He did a decent job, stumbling only a bit and keeping his voice level. Severus gave a sarcastic round of applause when Neville wandered to the back of the line.

Harry was the last to go. He recreated the curtsey from last night, trying to remember how Severus did his. He tried to keep the anger out of his voice when he spoke. When he looked up, Severus was considering him with drawn brows and a pursed mouth. He applauded, genuine and real. “Very well done, Mr. Potter. You’ve surprised me.” Lifting from his seat, he said, “You will do well to emulate him.”

Harry burned and watched as Severus swept dark locks away from his face. Severus breezed past the men, saying, “We’re leaving. I don’t entertain guests here.”

Snape stepped down from the pavilion and into the torrent of rain. It contorted around his body, around the men as they followed after him. He led them across the room and to the door as she produced a key from his loose robes.

Aquarius, footsteps soft against the floor, asked, “Leaving, Szajha?” He bowed deep but with his eyes open, disdainful at Severus’s feet.

Severus made no sound. He turned the key into the lock the looked down to the prone Aquarius. “I have a guest to see about. The Debutantes will be joining me so don’t wait up.” Severus pushed open the door, revealing to them a dark and unfamiliar corridor which led deeper into the mysterious manor. “Have it arranged for my rooms to be cleaned afterwards. Oh! And have a tray waiting for me in the parlor.”

“Yes, Szajha. Of course, Szajha,” said Aquarius. “Is that all?”

Thinking for a moment, Severus said, “Yes. You’re dismissed.”

There were only running feet to let Harry know that Aquarius had left. Severus took them out in the hallway, a string of war weary men in tow. The group traveled down an assortment of hallways and past countless doors, eyes catching portraits of long dead wizards and expensive sculptures. Severus brought them up a flight of stairs to a door etched with gold leaves. He ran a hand across the etching, fingers tracing a spell written along the vines.

“You will do well to treat this room with respect.” Severus said, sharp and with no waiting in between. “These rooms are my personal chambers _and_ were once inhabited by my predecessor, Alysaundre.” Looking back, he finished, “Don’t touch anything.” He pushed open the door, beckoned for the men to follow.

Harry immediately recognized the room as the place Severus brought him last night. In the daylight, it reminded Harry of the Slytherin common rooms, grace and opulence and clashing shades of green. The furniture was dove-grey and plush, a stark contrast to the jade green carpet. Above them was a dripping chandelier. Flush to one of the walls was a large canopy bed. Other walls held the vanity, a desk, a chair and a motley crew of paintings. The room was dark when he came, lit only by lamps. Today it was bright, curtains pulled open to bathe the room in sunlight.

Severus gestured to the floor. “Sit. If you’ll excuse me, I must prepare myself.” Severus stood near the back of the room, eyes flickering over a calendar. He read out a name written under the date – “Antonin Dolohov.” Without another word, he slipped into an adjoining room, closing the door tight behind him.

The moment the name was uttered, ropes slid around Harry’s throat. Antonin was a beast of a man, violent and cold as the rest of them. He won his place in Voldemort’s ranks for being vicious and blood-thirsty, killing millions with not even a blink. It did not help that Antonin had nearly killed Remus, some of the only family he really had.

“I don’t like the way this is going,” Ron whispered to Harry. Harry nodded in agreement.

A silence fell over them and remained unbroken until Severus came from the adjacent room. He came to them in a pale, pink robe loosely tied at the waste. Harry could see that he wore nothing but skin underneath. The long locks were eased into a lazy ponytail. His face, for once, looked refined and gentle.

Harry thought he might gag. The one night he slept with Severus he was tucked awkwardly underneath Severus’s body. The man had no right to sit there in finery, daring to look sensual when all of this could’ve been avoided if he had stayed loyal.

There was a quick and urgent knock at the door. Severus turned to them, excitement jumping behind his nothing eyes.

Easing the robe off his shoulders so that just a touch more skin was revealed, Severus said, “Come in.”

The door opened revealing to them Antonin Dolohov. The six men held themselves up in the corner only to restrain themselves. Their hands itched to touch their wands, to grab Antonin’s neck and never release. Harry’s own hot anger melted for a moment when he caught sight of the figure standing next to him. It looked familiar, dim and pale and impossibly thin.

“I hope you don’t mind, Severus. I brought a friend.”

Antonin shoved the figure in. Harry caught the gasp in his throat before it could leave him. War had changed Draco Malfoy, making his nearly unrecognizable. It sucked the color from his skin, aged him well beyond his years. He was painfully skinny, bones showing in his face and hands. He looked dead.

Harry’s heart slammed at his chest. To face Severus with nothing. His morals were clean and clear – he made his bed and laid in it, reaped the benefits of his selfishness and pride. Draco was harder. He broke himself from his racist, fascist family to decide his own path. Still, he stood by Voldemort when the war ended, deciding that his blood line meant more to him than innocent lives. It hurt to breathe when he looked at Draco so he turned away, ducking his green eyes.

“Oh. Well, this is a surprise.” Severus sounded lost for words. “Mr. Malfoy, would you like to take a seat while I attend to Antonin?”

The nod Draco gave was sharp and nervous. He played with his hands, darted his eyes from Severus to Antonin. He caught sight of the men and nearly jumped out of his skin. Clearing his throat, he said, “What are _they_ doing here?” Antonin shared his curiosity, leaning to look at the men.

Severus shrugged. “Oh, please, don’t worry about them. These are my Debutantes. If you don’t mind, Antonin, they will watch us today.”

“It’s no problem,” said Antonin. “Besides, they will soon be _our_ Debutantes, won’t they? Why not give them a special look?”

 

One of the men gagged. Harry fought the smile that dared to touch his lips until he couldn’t. Antonin and Severus shared an annoyance look. Draco, however, didn’t seem moved at all. Antonin came to them, looking at them with that pompous attitude that Harry had begun to associate with purebloods. The indifference radiated off of him. He surveyed them with dark brown eyes just bursting with judgement. The men held themselves still, distrustful of the man that killed their friends and family. Antonin chucked Colin under the chin, bowed his head and chuckled.

“My Severus, I don’t think your Debutantes trust me. I think they fear me.” Antonin caught Harry’s eyes and held them. Harry turned away but he could still feel Antonin – and another pair – looking at him. Harry went hot. _Merlin_. Of all the Death Eaters, of all the pigs Severus chose to fuck …

“Nonsense. Please, _dears_ , rise and treat this gentleman with respect.”

Harry couldn’t help the laugh that came out of him. He and the others rose anyway, one by one bowing in front of the man. Antonin took their hands and kissed them. Harry nearly gagged at the sensation of Dolohov’s mouth against his hand and rubbed the feeling off on his shift.

“You must be so delighted Severus to have such lovely Debutantes.” His cold hand ran up Harry’s arm then Neville’s. He heard a squeak from Colin and then a laugh from the pig. “Such beauty shaped under your fingers. I await the day I can make it my own.”

Harry’s stomach churned. He had hoped that was the end of things, that the humiliation was over. He didn’t know they’d be bowing for Draco too. The men were less repulsed by Draco kissing them, but still Harry dreaded it. Draco stood before him, hand extended. “Debutante?”

Harry bowed best he could. “An honor to meet you, sir.” He kept his eyes downcast, hoping that this would all pass soon. His former enemy bowed then took one of Harry’s hands. He flipped it over and pressed a kiss to the palm of Harry’s hand, much more intimate than how Dolohov had done it. He did not miss how long Draco lingered or that there were eyes watching their every movement. Harry snatched his hand back and tucked it behind him.

Dolohov caught the movement too. Voice full of mocking, he spoke, “My, my, Severus. It seems our dear Mr. Malfoy has taken a little liking to the Boy-Who-Failed. Do you, Malfoy? Like slimy, scummy half-blood Potter?”

Severus’s eyes darted from Harry to Dolohov to Draco. Draco said, quietly, “He’s fine … for a half-blood.”

Antonin found that amusing for some reason. Severus tipped his head to Harry. “And what do you say when a gentleman compliments you, Debutante?”

Was that a compliment? Harry sighed hard then said, “You’re too kind, _sir_.” He hoped he sounded venomous, cold enough to cut the three of those jackals. He refused to sheath his knife, to lower his guard for a minute.

“See! That wasn’t so hard was it.” Dolohov came back to him, pinched hard at his cheek. Harry could’ve bitten his finger if it was any closer.

“Like I said, Antonin, the Debutantes will be watching us. They have much to learn.” Severus put his hand on Dolohov’s chest, sensuality dripping off the edges of his words. He dropped his grip to Antonin’s hips, fingers playing at the lacing on the man’s pants. Antonin was too proud to tremble, but he leaned into the touch, humming at the contact. “They are not good as you. Poor _dears_ , wouldn’t know what to do it a _fine_ gentleman like you brought them to bed. Won’t you have mercy on them?”

“I am all about mercy, Severus.”

Draco took the moment to stalk over to chair, tearing his eyes away from the lascivious scene that played out in front of him. Harry did not have the privilege of looking away. He watched as Dolohov roughly grabbed at Severus’s waist and tugged him over to the bed. Severus’s smile was coy, pointed, as Dolohov untied the robe draped around his form. Flimsy fabric was pushed aside and off, letting the robe slip to the bed then to the floor. Severus raised to his knees, baring his nude body to the room.

The first thing Harry noticed was that Severus had no markings on his body save for the Dark Mark. While the Debutantes were marked with winding vines and flowers, Severus’s skin remained smooth and spotless. He would’ve hoped for Severus to be skinny, bony and underfed, but after four years of spoiling and pampering he had something akin to curves. There was around his thighs and arm and a decent amount of pudge at his belly. He looked well-fed. A spike of anger stabbed through Harry as he stared at Severus; the brown skin, the erection decorated with silver and dripping jewels. He sucked in his cheeks and bit them until he thought he might bleed.

“Has anyone told you that you looked edible?”

The laugh from Severus was high and fake, but Antonin didn’t have to know that. The two fell into easy kisses, bodies colliding and coming apart. Antonin’s unclipped and dirty nails dragged down Severus’s back. Severus gave him an almost genuine moan coupled with a few whispered words into his ear. They were perfectly relaxed, unmoved by the eyes on them.

Severus put a hand to Dolohov’s chest again, keeping him at an arm’s length. He moved himself up on the bed, gesturing for Dolohov to join him. At the other end of the room, Draco crossed his legs, stiff as he looked at the ceiling, at the floor, at the men. Antonin, however, was loose, lazing even as Severus came to settle himself at his lap.

When positioned, Severus busied himself with unbuttoning the Death Eater’s pants and withdrawing the quickly hardening flesh. Harry took in the scene from the corner of his eye, matching the other men and their pale faces. Harry only heard as Severus took Dolohov into his mouth, moaning around his dick.

 _This_ , Harry thought, _must be the greatest solution to erections._ The scene might’ve been lewd and tantalizing to some, but all Harry could feel was dread and disgust. He liked men as much as the next, but he had a thing about his lovers not being homicidal maniacs.

On the bed, Severus took Antonin’s erection in inch by inch, stroking at the base and licking at what he couldn’t fit in. Dolohov grabbed a handful of the Szajha’s hair with one hand and a mass of sheets in the other. His knuckles went white from the strain as he thrusted wantonly into Severus’s mouth. Harry, Draco and the others watched, a little spellbound, as Dolohov’s dick disappeared into the wide ‘O’ of Severus’s mouth and then withdrew.

Harry tried looking someplace else. He found Draco in a state of disarray, hand resting his crotch. Harry raised his brows high and then higher once he saw that Draco was jerking off. He pulled his eyes away from his modesty if not Draco’s. He didn’t think he could stomach much more of this.

Head turned, Harry could hear Severus’s breath as he withdrew. There were a few hungry gasps of air and a groan from Dolohov. “Beautiful,” he said. Harry had to disagree.

He could almost see the smile on Severus’s face before he continued his duty. Eyes back to the bed now as Severus traced his tongue in a slow line from base to tip. There was a playful – gag – chuckle from Severus before he took Dolohov all the way in, swallowing him whole. Antonin didn’t last much longer. He gripped Severus’s hair, shoved him down a few quick times then came in shuddering bursts. The two stayed in their positons – Severus with his head bent and Dolohov shaking. The erection is taking away, handed a cloth to clean itself. Severus backed away and swallowed, wiping traces off with the back of his hand.

Severus rolled off the bed and onto his feet. Dolohov still laid there, eyes blurry and mouth pulled into a smile. “If that will be all…” Draco rose quickly, already at the door by the time Dolohov rose to his feet and kissed Severus long and hard. His eyes jerked over to the Debutantes, nodding to Harry and then, remembering his manners, the other.

Harry could just barely hear the whispers exchanged between Dolohov and Snape. He brushed a stray lock of hair from Severus’s shoulder and said, “This was a pleasure I’d like to repeat.”

Severus pulled back, grin becoming a grimace. “Well, then, we’ll have to find some more time, won’t we? I’d love to make your most, hm, elaborate of fantasies a reality.”

“Of course, you would.” Dolohov bowed.

“Call on me whenever you wish, Antonin.” His tone went back to reverent, chockful of respect. “My door is always open.”

 _And your legs,_ Harry thought, biting the hard parts of his thumb. He watched as Draco rushed himself out the door and then Antonin. As soon as the door was shut, Severus bent to retrieve his robe. He slipped it back over deep tans shoulders, avoiding the gaze of the men. He dropped himself back onto the bed and rubbed at his temples. After a moment, he leaned over to pull at a cord hanging from the ceiling. Somewhere a bell rang.

Aquarius came fast as a house elf, popping in front of them in a burst of smoke. He nodded his head. “Szajha.”

Tiredly, Severus said, “I need my sheets changed.”

“Yes, Szajha.”

“But first, escort all of the Debutantes back to their room. Get them something to eat, something to drink. Have bathes prepared too.”

“Of course.”

“Hm, what else …Oh, yes! Bring my tray. Two sugars, milk, a few of those crumbling biscuits I like.”

Aquarius nodded then gestured for the men to rise and follow him. Harry rose to his feet too, expecting to be allowed to go.

“Potter. Stay.”

An exasperated sigh came from Harry. He stayed in his spot, uncomfortable at the thought of being in a room with the recently debauched Snape. Ron and Neville casted sympathetic looks before leaving. Harry appreciated their care but it would not save him from whatever Severus had planned. The door closed after the others with a solid _thud_.

Before Harry could open his mouth to complain, a warn brown hand wrapped itself around the back of his neck. He was led to the bed and soon felt his shift hoisted up around his waist. Severus palmed at his erection, boredom written across his face.

“Didn’t you think I looked pretty, Potter?” He worked Harry’s flesh in long strokes. “Didn’t you wish it were you?”

“No,” Harry said through gritted teeth. “Get off of me!”

Severus pulled his hands away, wiped pre-come off on a nearby pillow. He shrugged as he sat near the edge of the bed, waiting for Aquarius to come change the sheets. Harry took himself off the bed and placed himself at the other side of the room. Aquarius came back not a moment later, arms full of sheets. Harry watched as he worked, wanting anything to distract from the hate building in him. He left again then returned with Severus’s tray, bowing before going again.

When Aquarius was finally with his tasks, Severus pulled back the sheets and got underneath. He patted the spot just next to him. “Stay with me tonight.”

“Why should I?”

“Because I trust you’re not entirely childish. Just come rest.”

Harry came to him on wobbling legs, crossing over to sit on the bed. He laid down beside Severus, nerves going wild inside of him.

“Mr. Malfoy seems quite taken with you.”

His cheeks went hot, remembering how Draco embarrassed him with his words, with his lingering lips. “Well,” Harry said. “He can be taken with me all he likes. I don’t think I’m very much interested in him.”

“You think I’ve been taken by all of my lovers?”

“Draco’s not going to be my lover. _Ever_.” Harry shook his head. “Besides, what about Dolohov? He seemed obsessed with you.”

Severus hummed. “The Death Eaters see me as both their equal, their superior and their personal punching bag. Imagine growing up with someone, responding to them and then wanting to fuck them.” He sighed into a fresh pillow. “I confuse him that’s all.”

“He didn’t seem very confused on what he wanted. He looked like he wanted more.”

“He did.” Severus scratched at his neck. “A pity. Our Lord is the only one I allow to take me like that.” His face turned wistful. “He’s the only one I’d give myself to completely.”

The sentiment in the words made Harry’s skin crawl. He went still, questions bouncing in his head. He didn’t want to give Severus the impression that he enjoyed being here with him and away from his friends. He looked at Severus from the corner of his eye, all inky black hair and eyes like tunnels.

“Ever thought of being unfaithful to Voldemort?”

A beat of silence. “Always. Go to bed Potter. We’ll speak in the morning.”


End file.
